I am afraid that my sister
has prejudiced you against me, Mr. Tavernake. Beatrice is very
young, and the young are not always sympathetic, you know. They
do not make allowances, they do not understand."
"Why did you tell Mr. Dowling things which were not true?" he
asked bluntly.
She sighed, and looked down at the handkerchief with which she
had been toying.
"It was a very silly piece of conceit," she admitted, "but, you
see, I had to tell him something."
"Why did you come to the office at all?" he continued.
"Do you really want to know that?" she whispered softly.
"Well,--"
"I will tell you," she went on suddenly. "It sounds foolish, in
a way, and yet it wasn't really, because, you see,"--she smiled
at him--" I was anxious about Beatrice. I saw you come out of
the office that morning, and I recognized you at once. I knew
that it was you who had been with Beatrice. I made an excuse
about the house to come and see whether I could find you out."
Tavernake, in whom the vanity was not yet born, missed wholly the
significance of her smile, her trifling hesitation.
"All that," he declared, "is no reason why you should have told
Mr. Dowling that your husband was a millionaire and had given you
carte blanche about taking a house."
"Did I mention--my husband?"
"Distinctly," he assured her.
For the first time she had faltered in her speech. Tavernake
felt that she herself was shaken by some emotion. Her eyes for a
moment were strangely-lit; something had come into her face which
he did not understand.
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